


watching you: watching me

by Syntheticpalindromes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), It Chapter 2 (2019)
Genre: Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Voyeurism, ex-camboy eddie, idk how to describe this other than a canon divergent AU, im not sure if this is mature or explicit either so soRRY, inspired by pj ransone having twink porn tattoos, set during the events of chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 15:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntheticpalindromes/pseuds/Syntheticpalindromes
Summary: The thing was, Richie mused to himself as he gently knocked his head into the headboard of the old style bed in his room like he was trying to smack the memory out of himself, he had definitely seen those tattoos before. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember where? Because, surely, it wouldn’t have been on Eddie. Because he hadn’t seen Eddie since they were teenagers and he was leaving Derry for college. And of course, the space between then and now was a long time of not even remembering Eddie existed.~*~A fic where Richie can't quite put his finger on why he recognises the tattoos Eddie has, that he managed to catch a glimpse of in the guesthouse.





	watching you: watching me

**Author's Note:**

> so basically i'm horny for pj ransone's tattoos because they look like a gay porn star would get and it's SO incredibly funny and sexy, and i can't remember the exact context because i was very drunk last night trying to watch sinister 2 but me and my pal were off the shits about them and said something about eddie actually having james' tattoos and richie recognising them because eddie is an ex-camboy. and. like. well. here it is.

Richie would not have pegged Eddie fucking Kaspbrak of all people to be the kind of guy to have a myriad of tattoos on him but, well, here was the evidence that was a wrong assumption. Right in front of him. Merely by accident, of course, he didn’t go around staring into people’s rooms as they changed for bed usually. He wasn’t as much as a pervert as _a lot_ of people in the past had made him out to be. Or as much as his material suggested either. 

Honestly he was a bit fucking sick of all the jerking off jokes. 

Like, he got it. It was part of the schtick, but he wasn’t meaning to find himself stood outside of Eddie’s room after Mike and Bill had rambled a whole lot of shit about rituals and stuff that actually sounded kinda racist if you asked Richie. Not that anyone had asked him. But still. 

Eddie was pulling off his shirt and getting ready to put on what Richie would describe as “sexless married man” pyjamas, that nice cotton shit you only get from old lady stores. Plaid. 

What wasn’t sexless married man was the fact that Eddie was utterly littered with the dumbest tattoos Richie had ever seen; two stars dotting his collarbone and then “NO DICE” written in the worst font between them. A single heart dotting the “i”.

Richie felt woozy. 

But also, he felt a sudden pang of recognition. 

So he stood there, feet failing to save himself from a potentially embarrassing as fuck situation by refusing to move him away from the doorframe. Peering in like a total loser, mouth open slightly and Eddie’s gaze caught his all of a sudden. 

His face lit up with an uncomfortable looking blush that Richie noted spread all the way down to the stars on his chest. His eyes drawn to the fact that they looked like whoever had done them wasn’t too great as black work, the fills of them a bit scribbly and not entirely blacked out. 

Richie licked his lips, breaking the silence, “Damn Spaghetti. I knew kids with overbearing parents often acted out but did you let a three year old at you with a tattoo gun?”

That look that Eddie got in his eyes when Richie had _fucked him off_ was made very clear as Richie pulled his eyes away from the little sprinkling of chest hair and how much better in shape Eddie looked than he did. Which made no fucking sense because he was constantly running around LA like a madman because absolutely fuck driving in LA, and Eddie must just sit behind a desk all day and assess risk and other boring shit. 

“Fuck you bro.” 

Richie huffed a laugh, “Wow. Cutting.” 

Eddie yanked on the pyjama shirt, fingers fumbling to button it up quickly as he muttered, “Why are you lurking anyway you fucking creep?” Smoothing down the shirt after he was done, hands going to the button on his jeans, “You wanna fucking stay around and watch me get my dick out too, fuckwad?”

That had Richie grinning, “I mean, if you’re offering, man.”

“Go fuck yourself Tozier.”

And the door was being slammed in his face.

Oh well. 

Fun while it lasted, Richie supposed.

~*~

The thing was, Richie mused to himself as he gently knocked his head into the headboard of the old style bed in his room like he was trying to smack the memory out of himself, he had definitely seen those tattoos before. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember where? Because, surely, it wouldn’t have been on Eddie. Because he hadn’t seen Eddie since they were teenagers and he was leaving Derry for college. And of course, the space between then and now was a long time of not even remembering Eddie existed.

He laced his fingers together and rested them on his stomach, legs splayed out in front of him as he stared at a stain on the wallpaper. Had Eddie just gone and copied some other dude’s quite frankly awful tattoos or something? If he had, Richie would never let him hear the end of it because that would be absolutely hilarious. No originality. 

But, that didn’t seem right either. 

Who on earth would have exactly the same tattoos as someone else?

Plus, who on earth would _want_ those twink porn star tattoos. 

Richie’s thoughts paused for a moment as his brain blue screened and then rebooted,

“Oh. Holy shit.”

He grabbed for his phone, wrenching it towards him and opening safari. Opening a site he hadn’t been to in...Fuck, a decade? Maybe more. Utterly amazed the site was even still running and god did it look like something fresh out of 2006 so obviously it wasn’t like people frequented it much anymore. 

He swallowed, other hand reaching for the whiskey on the bedside table, taking a swig of it and swearing to himself as he tried to remember login details for a dirty site that he had felt grody about signing up to all those years ago and still felt like a creep going on now. He also felt bad for the guesthouse’s wifi. Tarnished by his little internet excursion but he had to know if he was going crazy or not, and really he would have accepted it if he was but-

He laughed abruptly, noise jilted and a little wild, “No fucking way.”

There it was. 

That was Eddie. 

His Eddie.

When he was around thirty, he’d been off the shits on vodka and cranberry like the biggest LA asshole ever; celebrating the fact he’d just been given the greenlight on a set of shows around the country that wouldn’t just be in bars but actual theatres. Like a professional. He’d been out with a bunch of friends and one of them jokingly had proposed that to congratulate himself he should get a stripper or a prostitute. Something Richie had not been too big on, mostly because he was still broke and he didn’t want to make some sex worker feel bad by tipping like trash and ruining both their nights. He respected people that did that shit too much. 

He had laughed it off and gone home, stumbling back to his tiny apartment. 

But he hadn’t stopped thinking about it, which was terrible, he knew that. 

He clenched his phone in his hand as he remembered how he’d opened his shitty Dell laptop, finding one of those sites where you can watch live streams of people...Jacking off and whatnot. Well aware he had barely anything in his bank account and he’d already spent a shit ton of money on alcohol that night. 

That did not stop him from giggling to himself like a lunatic, paying the watching fee to get into a stream from what he remembered being a crummy 2006 webcam. A chat box in the corner full of what could only be described as horny old dudes, telling the torso on screen to do gross things to themself. 

Richie didn’t remember why he clicked on a dude’s stream to begin with…

He tried not to think about it too hard. 

But, fuck, there it was. The profile of the person he watched jerk off ten years ago on a bed with Star Wars sheets even though the age at the time had shown that this was a thirty year old too. Which at the time had...Intrigued Richie? Maybe that wasn’t the word. But he didn’t really feel like watching a just legal person get themselves off, that seemed kinda nasty. He was thirty and he found other thirty year olds sexy, like you might expect. 

Of course, the name on the profile didn’t match Eddie’s. Richie never thought Eddie was stupid, despite the fact he acted like a total jackass eighty percent of the time. But no, the profile had read and still read, PJ (30). No other glaringly obvious tidbits of information were still up, except for some screenshots showing what the viewer might get if they were to subscribe to this particular cammer. 

Richie maximised one and minimised it immediately because he didn’t need to look too hard or too long to know what was on Eddie’s chest, splashed over those shitty tattoos. 

He took another swill of whiskey, feeling weird. 

What he had done that night was sit in his boxers and t-shirt, elbows propped on his knees, cross-legged on the bed as he gazed at another human being touching their dick. Something he wouldn’t have done on any other day, fuck, he rarely even watched porn because whenever he clicked on a video he’d get so bored seeing pussy. Which was crazy because he loved pussy! He….He loved it. He thought. 

He certainly loved it more than he loved the tattoos that were spread across this guy’s chest and arms. Looking like someone went at him in prison with a gun. Or that he’d just decided one day to become a twink sexworker and so he had to get the most gay porn tattoos Richie could ever imagine. 

Still, who was he to judge at that exact point.

The gross old dudes in the chat had rattled off a bunch of lame-o dirty talk to the guy on screen, calling him baby and a beautiful little twink and it was then Richie had realised there was an option to send cash donations. A couple of oblong boxes which had various amounts on them, which led to card detail boxes to be filled in. 

He realised after a moment that his volume was turned all the way down, and as soon as he popped the volume up, a bright little sound played. The guy on the screen, or rather his neck and torso as his face was hidden, seemed to perk up. 

A donation had been sent by someone, $10. 

The guy’s voice had been vaguely familiar, but Richie had blown it off because honestly a lot of guy’s sounded similar. Sometimes it was just like that. 

He watched carefully as the guy on screen thanked the donator, 

“Thanks for the ten bucks, man! Of course! Gimme a sec.”

Richie had swallowed, listening to the muffled sounds of the guy, presumably, sucking a couple of fingers into his mouth and then stuffing the hand down the back of his boxers.

That would explain the message box on the click through page, people must have donated money and then suggested things for the guy to...do. To himself. 

Richie had exactly $43.81 to last until the end of the week. 

It was a Wednesday. 

It’d be fine, he had told himself as he sent the guy $10 himself. A weird prickly feeling coming over him as he entered his card details and typed up a quick little request. Waiting for the noise that signified the donation had gone through and the guy had received it. And soon enough, the little _ping_ was heard through Richie’s speakers, his throat going tight and for a moment he must have stopped breathing because when the guy on screen shuffled about a bit and said, 

“You’re gonna have to wait around till the end for that one dude but, thank you.”

Richie had let out a massive whooshing breath. 

And he had actually. 

He’d stuck around through till the bitter, he shouldn’t call it bitter it was kinda hot, end. Watching some random dude he couldn’t even see the face off jack off for money, and really that seemed like a pretty good business model in Richie’s opinion. Shame half the watchbase were lecherous creeps but, you can’t win ‘em all, he supposed. 

It definitely was a lot better than porn though, for one thing the dude hadn’t made a load of stupid over the top noise. He’d kind of made a bunch of weird snuffling noises, kinda grunted when he’d stuck his fingers up his ass and Richie maybe expected a noise like that when doing something like that. Not that he had any experience of what that felt like, although maybe it wasn’t so bad judging by the way the guy had gone all shuddery and made the first genuine moan Richie had heard in any kind of smutty shit. 

It was different though. Nice. Not so fake and overproduced and shiny like some porn was. It was just a dude that was sat in his own room and he blatantly wasn’t any kind of pornstar because where he was knelt he had a rolled tummy and Richie assumed that he’d never heard of manscaping judging by his crotch.

Which was fine, actually. 

He just looked like a normal guy. 

He sounded like a regular guy getting himself off as he slid his hand over his dick, other hand still behind him and for a sick moment Richie wanted him to turn around so he could potentially see what was going on back there. Like, of course he could probably conjure up the image of a dude fingering himself but a nasty little part of his brain debated sending another couple of bucks just to coerce the guy into swinging his probably bony little ass around so Richie could fog up his glasses like a perv and stare at his ass.

And of course he had been popping a boner at that point, he probably would have to be dead to not get a bit of a hard-on over it. He was shitass drunk and horny and alone. 

Mostly he was just sort of interested though, why else would he have sat there for the entire stream? Watching this guy go from pleasantly semi nude to dick entirely out, awkwardly fingering himself and jerking himself off till he, well, nutted on himself. 

Richie kind of enjoyed watching it, in a sick, fascinated way. 

Like watching a car crash. 

Or so he told himself. 

It wasn’t until the guy on screen had gone, “Oof”, as he pulled three fingers out of his ass and made a disgusted noise as he reached for a towel just off screen. Wiping his hand before murmuring, “Oh. Yeah. Shit sorry, man. Almost forgot.” Settling himself back to the centre of the camera’s view and reaching a hand up to smear, _ohgodohgod_ Richie’s brain screamed, cum all over the ugly ass tattoos he had on his torso. The quality of the webcam just good enough that Richie could see the gooseflesh break out on the guy as he did it, making a weird little tutting noise like he hated getting dirty. 

Something in the back of Richie’s head, something he hadn’t thought about for ages, saying something about that reminding him of someone. 

He brushed it off. 

He couldn’t fucking remember what it was on about. 

His eyes were stuck on the guy, choking a weird laugh at the smear of jizz on the guy’s tattoo situated smack bang in the middle of his dorky little chest, 

“No dice.” Richie muttered, head feeling stuffy like he’d just smoked a fat bowl.

Hand creeping to his own dick as the guy waved awkwardly, hand still wet and sticky, 

“Thanks guys! Be back...Uh...Next Thursday maybe?”

And like that, the stream had finished and Richie had jacked himself off so quickly he saw stars. 

Literally. He saw the stars on the guys collar, imagining if he’d be down for it to be Richie’s cum that was on them instead. 

Which was fucking weird, because he wasn’t gay. 

Whatever. 

As Richie looked at the phone in his hands now, in 2016, the last date of streaming read that Wednesday. That very fucking Wedneday that Richie had found him and...Oh jeez, jacked off to his best friend jacking off. 

He had a flimsy memory of Eddie in the Chinese restaurant earlier than night telling him that him and his wife had been together for about a decade. Which, made fucking sense, Myra didn’t sound like a gal that would be too happy that her husband was tugging his dick for other guy’s pleasure on a seedy little website. Not that Richie gave a fuck, a buck was a buck. People had been fucking people for money for centuries. Myra probably wouldn’t have been that chill about it though, no wonder he gave it up pretty swiftly. 

The problem now was, Richie didn’t know how to process the information that was in front of him.

How could be broach it?

_Hey Eddie, remember when I sent you ten bucks to watch you cum on yourself?_

He laughed a strangled laugh, setting his phone down on the bedside table and trying not to think about the fact the screenshot he’d opened a moment ago was blatantly the one from the stream he’d tuned into. The setup entirely the same and for someone who had clown-demon-deity-monster created amnesia for all extents and purposes, he certainly had a good memory for the pattern the nut glistening on Eddie’s chest had made. 

It was the same. 

He finished his whiskey. Jaw set tight as he stared at himself in the mirror across the room. 

“You don’t have to go in there Rich. You could just leave it alone. You could just leave it all alone and tomorrow you can have a shower and….Think about Bev’s tits and whack one out.” As the sentence left his mouth he found his lip curling, digging his hands into his hair and groaning, “That’s fucking vile man, shut the fuck up.” 

Really, it was some kind of poetic justice that the kid he’d first crushed on at age twelve or thirteen would be the first guy he ever jerked off to. Or at least, consciously jerked off to. He was sure he’d probably let a couple of guys get up in his brain before that point but in true Tozier dumbass fashion, he’d only just realised he was gay about twenty seven minutes after Mike had called him to come back to Derry. 

Well, he’d always known he was gay but there was knowing something and accepting that thing. 

Different ballparks entirely. 

It had been a pretty alright realisation, because honestly once he’d accepted that he was probably going to die by the hands of a clown douchebag who he’d also only just remembered existed, coming out to yourself as a massive gay seemed like a breeze.

“Maybe it’s a sign.” He murmured, legs pulling him off the bed and across the hall to Eddie’s room, standing in front of the shut door and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he tried to decide if the punch in the face he could possibly get was worth…Whatever else might happen if he knocked on the door. 

_Fuck it._

The door inched open as he lifted a hand to rap his knuckles on the wood, Eddie in his pyjamas stood in the gap, 

“I could see the shadow of your feet, dumbass. What do you want?”

Richie blinked, and then sniggered, 

“Is that a face mask, dude?”

Eddie scowled, “Yeah? What’s wrong with that.”

Richie shook his head, feeling sick all of a sudden, “Nothing. Nothing. Just-...PJ? Really? Couldn’t think of a better rent boy name?” 

Eddie’s face suggested that he cycled through the five stages of grief before it settled on worry and...Scorn. Eddie’s hand going tight on the doorknob as he glared at Richie’s, cheeks red and Richie wanted to undo the top few buttons on his sleep shirt to see if it was stretching down his chest again. Wanted to see the stars next to flushed pink skin. 

“So what? Gonna be a dickhead to me about it? Make fun of me? Newsflash asshole, plenty of people do it, but it’s a hard decision. I was flat fucking broke.” 

He looked...Sad. 

He looked like he thought Richie was going to be disgusted with him, body shrinking in on itself and Richie had never seen a grown man look so tiny. Like he was thirteen again. How Richie used to look when he’d drag his sorry ass home after being socked in the face and called a fag for simply just being alive. 

“Eds, I-”

“Leave it Rich. Not everything has to be a joke, man.” 

And with that he started to close the door, Richie reacting quicker than he thought he could by sticking his foot in between, the door smacking against the ball of his ankle and he grit his teeth against the flash of pain, 

“I’m sorry. Okay? Sorry. That was a shitty joke. I just...C’mon man. We’ve all been remembering a ton of crap since we got here and I just wanted to add a little levity to the fact I just remembered I’m gay as a maypole. Cut me some slack. Not my fault my best friend is a tasty little twink.”

Eddie looked as if he was about to say something cutting, then stopped. Eyes burning, 

“...Gay?”

Richie smiled wonkily, shaking his hands as if to say _ta-da_, “As a fucking picnic basket.” 

They both stood there for a moment, until Eddie piped up with, 

“How do you know about PJ?”

Richie grimaced, “Can I please come in? I should explain.”

Eddie let him in.

~*~

Richie tilted his head and smiled to himself as Eddie fished around on the floor for his boxers, pulling them on and rubbing at the small of his back, “I didn’t realise blowing someone’s back out physically meant that. I’m too fucking old for this shit, man.” Grimacing and sitting on the bed across from where Rich was smoking out the window, eyes a little bleary because it was probably way past their old man bedtimes by then.

“Not my fault you’re just so cute, cute, cute that I want to fuck your brains out.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, 

“Beep beep, Rich.”

He stubbed the end of the cigarette out on the windowsill, wandering over to Eddie and flopping down on the bed next to him, watching as Eddie bobbed up and down where he sat, “You didn’t explain why you got those tattoos though. And you’re not getting away with it, I want to know.” He reached a soft hand out to stroke Eddie’s exposed thigh, looking at the fingerprints he’d left there only a short while ago. Rolling over a bit so he could press a kiss to the nearest bare bit of skin he could. 

Eddie rumbled a laugh at the sensation, stroking over Rich’s hair, 

“Well, you didn’t really give me much chance to explain myself, fuckass. Kind of hard to talk when I’ve got your tongue in my mouth.”

Richie blew a raspberry at him. 

Eddie sniggered, “I guess I just...Had a moment. Wanted to do something that nobody would expect me to do. Wanted to...Act out when mom died.” He shrugged, “Just happened that a bunch of freaks online seemed to think that they were hot. No idea why.” His fingers touched at Richie’s shoulder, “Maybe you could shed some light on that one?” 

Richie groaned, “Shut up, asshole. I didn’t purposefully type in some shit like…”Tattooed twink touches his cock” or something. It just...I was just intrigued.” He shoved himself up, leaning on his hand as he inched close enough to kiss Eddie on the mouth, murmuring against him, “You taste like jizz.” Which made Eddie splutter and shove him off, Richie cackling like a madman and shuffling his, still very bare, ass up the bed till he could settle comfortably against the pillows. 

Eddie balked, “You are _not_ staying in here.”

“Uh. And why’s that?”

“What? You want the others to know?”

Richie blinked, “...I...Don’t really care?” 

“Oh.” Was all Eddie said to that. 

Face going pink again after a second of silence, “Well. I mean. If you don’t care then I don’t care either.” 

Richie stared at him, “Are you always this awkward after you get fucked in the ass, because it’s kind of killing the mood Eds.” He didn’t wait for Eddie to get annoyed at that comment though, just extended an arm and let Eddie press their hands together, shuffling himself up till he was sat atop Richie’s lap, soft little thighs on either side of Rich’s. His hands slipping away from Eddie’s and resting on top of them, feeling the downy hair there and _liking it_. Because it was masculine and hot and he loved Eddie’s legs. 

Leftover teenage angst from those stupid shorts he’d always wear. 

They met in the middle another time, Richie getting the idea that they were going to do a lot of kissing from that point onward. To make up for lost time and all. His hand cupping the back of Eddie’s neck as he pressed him up against his front, making a startled noise when there was a sensation of tackiness between them as they pulled away. 

He glanced down, amused to find that, oh yeah, he’d rubbed Eddie’s cum over his dumbass tattoos a bit ago. 

His stomach went hot again, “Have I ever told you that you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen? And I mean that.” 

Eddie pulled a face, “No. And honestly, that’s lame as hell.”

“Lame. And true.” 

Richie tilted his head forward, rubbing their mouths together, “So did you buy something pretty with the ten bucks I sent you? Something naughty like a...vibrator or something?”

Eddie snorted, hands grasping Richie’s shoulders and pushing him away, “Your breath smells like ass-”

“Probably because I was eating yours not too long ag-”

“Beep Beep.”

“Sorry.”

“And no, I bought a new nice tie for a job interview I had the following week.” Eddie’s eyes softened at that, “Kind of weird. Even when I couldn’t remember who you were, and you were being a freak jacking off to me, you were bugging me and helping me to get my fucking life together.” He shrugged a shoulder, “Uh...Thanks. I guess.” 

Richie suddenly felt the way he used to when he was thirteen and Eddie would look at him during their quieter moments. When he’d smile at Richie after he’d bought him a new comic with his own allowance. Or when Eddie fell off his bike and smashed the wheel into a weird lumpy shape, and Rich had gone out of his way to fix it. Eddie in a rare moment of unbridled joy had wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck and hugged him tight, thanking him. 

Richie felt _shy_. 

“It’s fine. Anything for you Eds.” He brushed a thumb over a star, “I...Like..._I mean that_.” 

“If you mean it, would you be able to go and get a wet cloth to get all this cum off me? It’s taking all my willpower to not throw up right now. No offence, obviously. I don’t mind you being a horny freak, but it's drying and it doesn't feel good.”

The sense of pride and a job well done filled Richie’s chest all the way through scrubbing tacky cum off Eddie’s chest and getting moaned at to watch his chest hair. Richie placing a kiss on the No Dice tattoo in the centre when he was done, murmuring to the ink that next time he was going to be the one that was jizzing on it and Eddie’s smack to his arm actually really fucking hurt. 

He felt like he was on an 8-ball as Eddie let him shove their bodies together under the covers, reminding him of all the sleepovers they’d had as teenagers and kids. Forever wishing back then that Eddie would reach out and touch his hand. His face. Kiss him. Whatever. Just needing a kind of intimacy that he didn’t know could exist between two boys. Forever jealous that Bill could kiss Bev on the mouth outside and not be called a faggot. 

He touched Eddie’s face reverently, close enough that he could smell that he smelled of deodorant and kind of sweaty too. But also whatever product he put in his hair and Richie found that his hands smelled just like it too, from carding through it as he pressed Eddie into the mattress and had him writhing about. 

“Was it...Good?”

Eddie snuffled, drifting off already, “I don’t want to answer that, you’ve got a fat head already.”

Rich grinned, “So, yes then.” Little space between them without his glasses on as a barrier, Eddie’s ever so slightly blurred features, even this close, looking soft and sleepy and happy, “Does this mean I don’t have to donate money anymore? Can I get it for free now Eds?”

Richie assumed Eddie was on the verge of passing out, because he answered with a very un-Eddie-like answer of, 

“You can get it anytime for free, Rich.”

~*~

Breakfast was odd in that, there wasn’t really anyone else around in the guesthouse but there was a fancy little continental spread laid out for all of them that slept there. Nobody meeting Eddie and Richie’s eyes as they trounced down the stairs together, looking incredibly well rested but also very...Smug.

Bev placed the spoon she was just stirring her coffee with down, peering up at them as they sat down next to each other, Richie’s hand immediately going for toast and Eddie very delicately picking up a china teacup,

“So.” She started, “Good night?”

Richie gave her a haughty look, 

“What’s that supposed to mean Beverly?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” She smiled and squeezed his hand, “You know, you look a lot less stressed when you’ve gotten laid, Tozier.”

Both Richie and Eddie’s eyebrows shot up at the same time, Eddie coughing around a mouthful of food, 

“Bev, I’m trying to eat a fucking croissant?” 

Forever thinking on his toes and about self preservation, Richie’s eyes darting between Bill, Ben, Bev and also Eddie who was getting increasingly more pink at the seconds went by, he managed to stumble out, 

“Guys, did you know that Eddie has fucking _tattoos_?”


End file.
